Leave It All Behind
by FallingStarsAndPaperFlowers
Summary: Two shot. Sherlock's been bored, and the emotions he's been suppressing are beginning to haunt him. When he finally snaps, he turns to a horrible thing. What happens when John walks in on him? Warning: Self Harm. May be triggering. M for content.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello. This is my first Sherlock fanfiction, so I'm sorry if John and Sherlock are a bit OOC. I did the best I could. **

**So, this could be considered slash, or it could just be bromance. I didn't put anything severely romantic in here other than a couple hugs. **

**Anyways, on to the story. Enjoy!**

**Warnings: Self harm. May be triggering. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and am in no way, shape or form earning any money from writing this story. **

* * *

_Why did it hurt so much? _

_It wasn't supposed to be like this._

_Caring is not the advantage._

_So why do I feel this way?_

* * *

_Bored._

Staring at the ceiling for hours on end wasn't exactly mentally stimulating though, was it?

There had been no cases for three weeks, with nothing other than John to distract him. And now that John was asleep, that slight distraction had left him.

And he was bored.

He knew he should sleep. Of course, he should eat too.

The problem was, he wasn't tired. Or hungry.

He never was. He had to force himself to do both. And even then, only after nudging from John.

He longed for a cigarette. Or something stronger. Anything to cure the plain _nothingness _he felt.

Sometimes he wondered if he was even human.

No that wasn't right. He was human. He felt emotions. He had just learned to distance himself from them. Learned how to ignore them.

But there was still those moments, where everything came crushing down on him, and his entire wall would collapse. The fear and disgust from all he'd seen... the guilt and sadness from unsolved cases, from every life he was unable to save.

Caring was not the advantage. He knew that.

But in those moments, he couldn't bring himself to care.

At those times, he would need something to stave off the feelings.

Most of the time, that something was drugs.

But the times where they were inaccessible, he turned to something else.

He knew, if anyone ever found out, they'd be thoroughly disappointed in him.

The great Sherlock Holmes, resolved to do something so stupid.

So he took great care to make sure no one ever found out.

Lately, the moments where everything slammed down on top of him had been coming more and more often.

Most of the time late at night.

The sheer weight of everything he felt would be enough to drive off any hunger or drowsiness he might have felt for days.

That night was another one of those moments. He hadn't solved his last case fast enough, resulting in hundreds of people losing their lives. Innocent people.

His shoulders slumped under the stress of it all.

It was his fault. If he'd just been faster, he could have saved those people.

When he began to feel the now familiar prickling behind his eyes, he knew what he needed to do.

Standing up, he made his way to the bathroom, trying not to stumble in the dark. He couldn't risk John waking up and seeing what he was about to do.

He walked in to the small room, and reached up above the cabinet for the object that had comforted him multiple times.

A small, silver razor. Kept in pristine condition, even after all the years of use.

Keeping a stoic expression on his face, he brought the razor down to his wrist and sliced. The stinging sensation of the blade piercing his skin gave him immediate relief. The emotions were beginning to ebb away. Soon he could relax.

He sliced the blade across his wrist two more times. By then, the last of the weight was gone. The annoying emotions left behind.

Mesmerized, he watched the trickles of red liquid rolling down his arm from each cut. Fascinating, that something so strangely beautiful could be so important to life - boring and cruel. He watched for a few more moments before he shook himself out of his daze. It was almost seven a.m., John would be up soon. He had to clean up so he couldn't see what had happened there that night.

Quickly, he cleaned off the blade and put it back in it's hiding place. Smiling at the stinging sensation of disinfectant soaking into his wounds, he bound his arm and made his way back to the arm chair in the sitting room. Placing his finger tips together under his chin, he allowed himself to fall in to the depths of his mind. Thinking was the perfect way to wait for John to wake up. Anything to pass the time.

* * *

Sherlock was so deep in thought he didn't notice his friend stumble out of his room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

John Watson observed the 'high functioning sociopath' for a few moments before deciding not to disturb him. Instead, he followed the demands of his stomach and walked to the kitchen to make himself breakfast. He hoped he might be able to get Sherlock to eat, now that the case was over.

Working quickly, John made a few pancakes and a couple pieces of toast before shuffling back into the sitting room, plates in hand. Setting the food down on the table, he tapped Sherlock's shoulder. The man jumped, twisting his head to look at John, before relaxing back against his chair. "Ah. Good morning John."

John gave Sherlock a smile, before holding one of the plates in front of him. "I made some pancakes and toast, if you want some."

Sherlock nodded, but a frown touched his features. "I apologize John, but I am not hungry at the moment."

John slumped, a tint of disappointment in his eyes. "You sure?" he asked

Sherlock simply nodded, before reaching for the blond's laptop. "Quite." he murmured

John sighed, and took the extra plate back to the kitchen. He walked to his chair, and ate his meal in silence, the only sound being the clicking of the keyboard as Sherlock typed. He stole a few glances at Sherlock as the quiet continued, wondering what was going through that brilliant head of his. "Anything interesting?" he asked

Sherlock hummed in response, continuing to read and reply to emails. "Nothing at all."

John nodded, watching the curly haired man. Something was off about him, he just couldn't figure out what. "Are you okay, Sherlock?" he asked

The typing paused for a moment, before he continued. "Fine, John. Why?" he looked up at his flatmate, blue eyes calculating.

Trying to move on, John shrugged. "No reason."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Well obviously there is a reason, other wise you wouldn't have asked that question in that way. Normally you would say 'How are you?' or something of the sort. Judging from your expression, and the glances you've sent my way in the last few minutes, I'd say you were worried about something. What's troubling you John?"

John rolled his eyes. "It's nothing important."

Sherlock scoffed. "'Nothing important?' Don't lie to me John."

The man currently being scrutinized under the calculating gaze sighed, and shook his head, but couldn't help the small smile that found it's way onto his lips. "It's nothing really Sherlock. You just seemed to be acting a bit different today."

Sherlock tried to act like those words hadn't affected him at all, and rose an eyebrow in question, but John didn't miss the tensing of his shoulders. Nor the slight glance at his hands. He found himself growing more concerned when the detective averted his eyes, and refused to look at him, opting instead to gaze out the window.

"Alright Sherlock. Now I definitely know something's wrong. What is it? Did something happen while I was asleep?"

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. "No, nothing happened."

It was an obvious lie.

John raised his eyebrow. "Really? Because something tells me otherwise."

"And what would that be?"

"Well Sherlock, I've learned from the best. I've simply been observing you. I'm sure I haven't found half of what you could, but it's enough to know something's bugging you. So spill, what's on your mind?"

Sherlock shook his head, a small smile gracing his face at John's awareness. "I've just been thinking about the last case, is all."

John's features softened. "Oh." he said quietly

Sherlock nodded, and turned his attention back to the laptop, while John went and made tea for the two of them. After another few moments of silence, John spoke up again. "You know Sherlock, none of that was your fault. You couldn't have done anything."

John jumped as Sherlock slammed the computer's lid shut, and stood up. His shoulders were tense, and there was a slight tremble in his hands. "That's not true John."

John did a double take. "Excuse me?"

"That's not true. I was too slow. If I had just been a little faster, I could have saved those lives. They were innocent, John! They did nothing, and they were killed!" Sherlock sat down with a huff, crossing his arms, and John found himself speechless for a few moments.

"Sherlock, you know that's not true."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Oh, care to explain?"

"You were working as fast as you can Sherlock. This man was clever, he knew you'd fall for that trick of his. He was smart Sherlock, but in the end you were smarter. He may have set off the first bomb, but you managed to uncover the trick in time to find him before he could set off the second. Sherlock, the deaths of those people was not your fault. You saved a lot more lives by catching the man. Scotland Yard found another six bombs hidden around London. Sherlock, you saved thousands of lives. You caught a criminal no one else could."

"But I couldn't save the others."

"No. Most of the time you can't Sherlock. You've got to understand that. You can't save everyone. Save who you can, and accept those you can't."

Sherlock shook his head. "I can't just accept it though." he spat

John shook his head. "I know it's hard. Trust me, I've dealt with this. You feel guilty Sherlock. You're grieving for the lives you were unable to save. But you saved far more lives than was lo-"

John was cut off as Sherlock abruptly stood once again, walking to his room. At the slam of a door, John sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair. Standing up, he made his way to the detective's room. "Sherlock?" he asked

There was no reply, and he tried again. "Sherlock? Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'm going to go out and do some shopping, I'll let you think about all this. We'll talk later."

When he again received no reply, he sighed in resignation, and went to take a quick shower. Once he was dressed, he called to Sherlock that he was leaving and would be back later. The genius needed time alone, and John could respect that.

* * *

Once Sherlock had stormed into his room and locked the door, he walked to his bed, curling up on top of the blankets. It wasn't fair to John, he knew, to act like this. His friend was simply trying to help. As expected, John followed him, apologized for nothing, and announced that he was going shopping. Sherlock listened to his footsteps as his friend walked away, and the hiss off the running water as he started the shower.

He knew John was trying to comfort him, but all his words had done was bring back memories - and emotions. A little voice in his head told him that John was lying, that he secretly blamed Sherlock for everything.

_You're pathetic. You know it's all your fault. John knows it too, he's just taking pity on you. Taking pity on a poor, poor, weak little boy._

Sherlock shook his head. No, that wasn't true.

_You know it is. John hates you. Everyone does. You're a freak._

The words still stung, even though Sherlock had heard them hundreds of times before.

When he heard the front door close, and felt tears prickling behind his eyes, he knew once again what he needed to do. Apparently, that night hadn't been enough to keep the emotions at bay.

He opened his door, and walked through the empty flat to the bathroom, to his trusty razor.

To his relief.

* * *

**Alrighty, so the hurt/comfort part will come in the next chapter(obviously). Got some angst in there. I can't write a story without angst, it's impossible for me. **

**Anyways, how'd I do? I'd love to know what you thought, and constructive criticism is always welcome. Feel free to drop a review!**

**When I get the next chapter up will depend on the response I get for this chapter. If I get a good response, the faster I'll post. Since it's only a two shot, that's not really threatening, but eh... I don't care. **

**Thanks for reading. Until next time!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello my friends! Here is the next chapter of my wonderfully angsty story!**

**Thank you to everyone who followed, favorited and reviewed. It means so much to me. I'm glad you guys have like my story. **

**Anyways, enough rambling. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, and am in no way, shape or form gaining any money from the making of this story.**

**Warning: Contains self-harm. May be triggering. **

* * *

_When he heard the front door close, and felt tears prickling behind his eyes, he knew once again what he needed to do. Apparently, that night hadn't been enough to keep the emotions at bay._

_He opened his door, and walked through the empty flat to the bathroom, to his trusty razor._

_To his relief._

* * *

An hour later, John walked back into the silent flat. He hadn't expected anything less, to be honest.

"Sherlock, I'm back!" he called. Stepping into the kitchen, he began to put the groceries away, doing his best to avoid the random experiments and body parts lying around the room. He walked back to the sitting room, and called out once again. "Sherlock?"

He received no answer and frowned. Was he still mad at him? He made his way to Sherlock's bedroom, finding the door open. Stepping in, he searched around only to find the room empty. His frown deepened. Where was he?

Walking in the hall, he noticed the light coming from the bathroom door. Placing one hand on the knob, he knocked with the other. "Sherlock? Are you alright in there?"

When he received no reply, he pushed the door open, and almost screamed at the sight in front of him.

Sherlock was leaning against the far wall, the floor around him smeared with droplets of blood. Jagged cuts scarred both arms, going from his wrists up to his elbows. The worse part though, was the knife the detective held in his hands, paused in the middle of a new cut. He turned his glazed stare to John, and horror lit up his eyes. He scrambled to hide the damage, but it was too late.

John kept a calm face as he walked over to his friend, who flinched away from him. Kneeling down, paying no mind to the blood on the floor, he gently touched Sherlock's arm. "Sherlock, let me see them."

Tears welled up in the genius' eyes, but they did not fall. He shook his head stubbornly, refusing to let John see. John sighed. "Please Sherlock? I need to see how bad the damage is. I have to see if you need stitches." He kept his voice calm and soothing, trying not to alarm the broken man in front of him. He reached out again, and took the man's arms lightly. Sherlock didn't fight against him, so he took it as acceptance.

John looked at the wounds, and tried not to gasp. Tears welled up in his eyes. "Oh Sherlock..." he whispered, running his finger up one arm.

Each were covered in multiple lacerations, each one fairly deep and bleeding profusely. He was surprised his friend hadn't passed out from blood loss yet.

Sherlock kept his eyes on the floor, refusing to look at the doctor. A single tear slipped down his face at John's reaction to what he had done. "I'm sorry John..." he said

John shook his head. "No. You have nothing to be sorry for. It doesn't look like you'll need stitches, so I'll clean up your... wounds, and you'll be fine. We'll talk afterwards."

Sherlock nodded, looking anywhere but at his friend as he cleaned and bandaged the cuts. He was thankful John had remained calm. He was scared John would be angry at him, disgusted at what his friend was doing to himself.

A few minutes later, John finished cleaning up the bathroom, and led his hurting friend to the sitting room. "Now, Sherlock. We need to talk."

The genius nodded, sitting down in his chair, still not looking at John. "What... why would you do that Sherlock?" he asked

Sherlock felt more tears welling up in his eyes, but refused to let them fall. "There's moments..."

John stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. "There are moments where... everything comes back to me. All the emotions I suppress. It's just hard... this is the only way I know to deal with it."

John's expression softened. He had no idea Sherlock had been feeling like that. "How long has this been happening?" he asked, glad his friend was talking to him

Sherlock shook his head. "It started a few years ago. At first I was able to ignore it, then I turned to drugs. After I quit that, I turned to this. I started a little before I met you."

John walked over to his friend, and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sherlock."

He scoffed. "Sorry? Why are you sorry? You have nothing to apologize for."

"I'm sorry you feel that way Sherlock. I want to help you, you're my friend. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

The detective shook his head. "I don't know if you can..." he risked looking up at his doctor, and froze. Multiple emotions throbbed inside him at the look on his friend's face. He was sad, and hurt that he hadn't told him about his problem. The tears welled up again, and he was unable to hold them back this time.

They streamed down his face, while he remained silent. John's expression saddened, and he wrapped his arms around Sherlock. He rubbed circle's on his back, and Sherlock buried his head in his shoulder, seeking the warmth and comfort he hadn't had in a long time.

"It hurts." he managed to choke out.

"Shh... it's okay, Sherlock. I know it hurts, but it will be all right."

He didn't bother saying anything else, knowing it wouldn't do anything. He just kept rubbing his friend's back, rocking him back and forth.

After a few minutes, Sherlock calmed down, but didn't pull out of John's embrace. He kept his head on his friends shoulder, allowing himself rely on the strength of his companion. He closed his eyes, and breathed in the doctor's scent. "Thank you..." he whispered

John nodded, and pulled away, keeping his hands on Sherlock's shoulder. He caught his eye, and held his gaze, trying to make him see the importance of what he was about to say. "Sherlock, I don't want you to hurt yourself anymore. I don't expect you to just stop all at once, but I want you to try. Please Sherlock. I can't stand the thought of you hurting yourself when I can help. Promise me you'll talk to me next time you feel like doing this?"

Sherlock nodded, guilt stinging his heart at the thought of hurting his closest friend. "I promise, John."

John smiled sadly, squeezing his shoulders. "Good."

* * *

During the next two weeks, Sherlock barely even thought about the cuts marring his wrists. He was busy with case after case, burying himself in his work. John was glad the man was doing well, but he was worried about him not eating or sleeping.

When it became obvious that Sherlock wasn't going to take a break any time soon, John decided to take action. Walking up to his friend, he closed his laptop and held out a piece of toast. "Eat."

Sherlock shook his head, trying to reopen the computer.

John sighed, and set the toast down on the table. "Sherlock. You need to stop this. You're not eating, and you're not sleeping. It's not good for you Sherlock."

Sherlock glared at his friend, keeping his mouth shut.

"Just eat the toast." he said

Sherlock shook his head, and John felt anger and annoyance building up inside him. "Dammit Sherlock! I'm trying to help you here, but you just won't cooperate! You're always hurting yourself in some way. If it's not refusing to sleep and eat, it's fucking slashing at your own wrists!"

Both of their eyes widened at the same time. John brought a hand to his mouth, a gasp escaping his lips. "Sherlock, wait. I-"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, no. I... understand." he stood up slowly, and walked to his room. He shut the door quietly, and John heard the soft click of the lock turning.

The doctor felt tears building up in his eyes. He hadn't meant to say that. He never meant to hurt Sherlock like that.

For a moment, he was scared Sherlock would cut, but shook his head. He had hurt the man, yes, but he had made a promise. Sherlock kept his promises. Standing up, he made his way to his friend's room, knocking on the door lightly. "Sherlock."

He received no reply, so he continued. "Sherlock, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. You have every right to be mad at me, but I hope you can forgive me. I-"

"Stop."

At the single word, John froze, holding his breath.

"Just stop John. It's fine. I know you didn't mean any harm, I just... I need some time alone."

John nodded, understanding where he was coming from. "O-okay." he ran a hand through his hair, and walked back to his chair. Unable to focus on anything else, he watched the clock, waiting for Sherlock to come out.

* * *

An hour later, John heard the click of a door opening, and whirled around to see Sherlock, hunched over and staring at the floor, walking into the sitting room. John stayed silent, having no idea what to say. When Sherlock sat down, the silence continued, tension hanging in the air.

"Sherlock-"

The dark haired man held his hand up, stopping John from continuing. "I told you, it's fine John. All is forgiven."

John relaxed, and smiled. "Thank you Sherlock. You know I didn't mean any of that."

Sherlock nodded, and the silence fell in place once again.

Waiting for a few minutes, John finally asked the question that had been running through his mind ever since he had found out Sherlock's secret. "Sherlock?" he asked

The man hummed in response, looking up to meet his doctors gaze, an eyebrow raised in a silent question.

John squirmed in his chair, uncomfortable with what he was about to ask. "W-when you were cutting, how did it feel? W-what made you continue it?"

Sherlock sighed, slumping in his chair. "I don't know how to answer that. It gave me release from my emotions, that's all I can say."

John nodded, twirling his thumbs around each other in his lap. "W-were you ever scared? Because of what you were doing?"

The detective nodded. "Yes, the first few times were a bit frightening. But... the thing that scared me the most was when I stopped caring about the scars on my wrist. When I stopped being frightened by them. I... I no longer hesitated when it came to self-harming."

John nodded, feeling tears pooling behind his eyes. He held them back, he had to be strong for his friend. "Thank you for telling me."

The detective nodded, diverting his gaze to the skull on the table. After a few moments, John noticed Sherlock's hands were shaking. "Sherlock, are you alright?"

The man turned his gaze to him. There were prominent bags under his red eyes from lack of sleep and holding back tears, and his cheeks were hollow from not eating. John felt so sad at the sight of the man in front of him. How could someone be so broken?

Sherlock shook his head, the trembling spreading through his entire body. "No. John, I don't think I am."

John immediately stood up, grabbed his friend's hand and led him to the couch. Sitting down, he led Sherlock to the spot next to him. The man curled up beside him, placing his head on John's lap.

Soothingly, John ran his fingers through Sherlock's curly hair. "Shh... it's okay Sherlock. You're okay." he felt the wet of the man's tears through his jumper, and grabbed his hand, rubbing his thumb in circles on his skin. "Everything's fine."

Sherlock sat up, a few silent tears running down his face. "No it's not! Nothing is fine, John! I- it hurts! I want this pain to be gone. Why can't I just leave it all behind?" Sherlock choked, and John placed his arms around him. Rocking him back and forth, he felt his friend place his head on his shoulder, hesitantly wrapping his own arms around the doctor.

Rubbing soothing circles on Sherlock's back, a tear slid down John's face. He couldn't believe his friend had so much hidden away inside him. He felt like sobbing at the thought of how broken his friend was.

After a few minutes, John pulled back enough to look Sherlock in the eyes. "Sherlock, I'm so proud of you. You've held on so long. I know it's hard, but it will get easier; especially if you talk to someone. It doesn't have to be me - I'm fine if it's not - but you need to tell someone what's going on. I'm always here for you, I'll always listen."

Sherlock's bloodshot eyes glistened from the tears that he still held inside, but the man already looked slightly better. A bit of his paleness had gone, replaced with a healthy glow.

John reached his arms around his friend again, keeping him in a warm embrace until he fell asleep from exhaustion.

The doctor knew things would never be perfect, but he could be sure things would get better. He didn't expect Sherlock to never cut again, you can't do that when you're addicted to something, but he knew his friend would stop eventually. If it took a month, or years, John didn't care. He would be with his friend through it all, supporting and comforting him.

He would always be there.

* * *

**And it's over. I know, cheesy ending. Sorry about the OOCness, but I hope it's nothing too large. How was it? I'd love to know! Feel free to drop a review giving me feedback - constructive criticism is always welcome! **

**If you guys have any ideas of things you want to read but don't feel like writing, feel free to PM me. If I have time, I'd love to write it for you. **

**I might write a sequel where Sherlock relapses and John helps him through it. Do you guys think I should? Let me know.**

**Thanks again!**


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